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Tomorrow is the feast day of St. Luke.
Your feast day, dad.
Luka. What a sweet name.
How would I like you were still around to celebrate with you. But life has his rules and you passed away leaving behind a deep wound in my soul still open. Why can’t I stop missing you? Why can’t I stop writing about you?. I miss your blue eyes looking at me penetrating, understanding me. I miss your serene smile. I miss your wise words. I miss your laugh. I miss you signing. I miss you reading your poems to mom. I miss your being there for me when I needed you.
How are things in Heaven? Sure you’re happy there. Sure you are there for me too. But I can’t see you.
“So I ask each weepin’ willow
and each brook along the way
and each lad that comes a-whistlin’
How are things in Glocca Morra
This fine day?”
Are you keeping a place ready for me? because I feel I don’t belong there in Heaven.
You must help me a lot as you ever did. I want to see you again. To be with you, to talk with you, but for that you have to help me be a good person and reach that goal. Love God and be good to others as you did. And to be entirely happy, I would like to reach that goal with all the people I love to be together for ever. But I’m so far away. I know you are working to help us because you loved all of us so much.
“Would you hold my hand
if I saw you in Heaven?
Would you help me stand
If I saw you in Heaven?”
I’m sure you would. And despite I feel I don’t belong there, I hope you’ll help me cross the door and then
“there’ll be no more tears in heaven”
(Thank you Eric Clapton for this beautiful song)
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